Dark Carousel (Dark #30) - Christine Feehan Page 0,126

bed of soil. It was spread completely under the basement, a rich reservoir painstakingly brought from the richest soils found in the United States. This was a place of healing. This was where Tomas had stayed for two weeks and had recovered. He had offered the same to Val, but the ancient had refused and had gone to another place in the forest to heal.

“No one could have foreseen this.” Dragomir all but growled it.

The others echoed the sentiment, absolving him, but did it really matter? There was no absolution. He had allowed her to go into a situation alone and unprotected. There was no feeling better about it, no loss of guilt or anger or fear. Terror. It was there. Grabbing him by the throat and crushing him under its weight. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Stay with me. Stay for me. I need you, Charlotte.

Tariq waved a hand and opened the soil, giving himself plenty of room. He floated, Charlotte cradled in his arms, down into what appeared to be a double grave at least eight feet deep. The minerals sparkled when the faint lights on the ceiling overhead illuminated the dark loam. Up on the decks above the soil, the Carpathian hunters formed a circle around the opening and began to chant. Hand and arm movements were coordinated, reversing what Vadim had done centuries earlier.

Charlotte tried. For him. He felt it. The rising of her spirit just briefly. The smallest of flickers, and then her light faded.

Tariq didn’t waste any time. He sank his teeth into Charlotte’s neck, that pulse that should have been tripping with fear, but was barely there. He took her blood fast. She didn’t feel the bite or the drawing, so he didn’t try to soften the effects. He just took enough for an exchange, watching her the entire time.

Her eyelids were so fragile, almost transparent under the fog of ice, eyes moving continually behind them. Her lashes were long and thick, lying in twin crescents against her pale skin. She shuddered. Labored for breath. Wheezed. He reached for her spirit even as he drank, surrounding that small fading light so that she couldn’t escape him. His blood didn’t warm her body as it should have. He’d encased the splinter, making certain it couldn’t break free, but it was using her bone marrow as a resource to continue to infect her.

Between the splinter and the safeguards, Charlotte was in trouble. The moment he’d taken enough blood, he swept away his clothing and used his fingernail to tear a laceration over his chest muscles. Immediately he cupped the back of her head in his hand and pressed her mouth to the ruby beads bubbling up. Drink, sielamet. Drink for both of us. He pushed command into his voice, cursing that he’d allowed her to stay too long in the tunnels. She had no sense of time passing there, but he’d known she was getting close to her limit. He hadn’t banked on Vadim’s safeguards from centuries earlier, working to destroy her.

Her mouth barely moved. He scowled and pressed her closer, taking her mind from her, uncaring in that moment that he might have to face her later if she objected. Ruthlessly he forced compliance, even when her body was far too tired to obey. She had no other choice than to do exactly as he commanded. Her mouth began to move against him, drawing out the vital blood that would sustain her life and ensure that nothing would take her from him. Hot rich blood that would fill her organs, heat and reshape them. Change her. Transform her. Save her.

Don’t let it be too late. Let me have her.

While she fed, he removed their clothes with a simple wave of his hand and encased both of them in the rich soil, burying all but their heads so that the earth could do its job and care for her, warm her. Bring back heat into her freezing body. When he was certain she’d taken enough blood for their third exchange, he held her close, using his own body heat, slipping into her body with his spirit to facilitate her body’s ability to bring her temperature up.

Inside her, he found . . . ice. He’d been standing with her, his arms around her. The other Carpathian hunters had been touching her—hands on her—but they couldn’t go where she led. It had happened so fast. Without warning. They could see the events unfolding in their minds,